


Watson's Snow Day

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, Snowed In, Watson's War Wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Watson and Holmes have a visitor on a cold winter morning, which results in Watson having to leave the comforts of their rooms in Baker Street. Unfortunately, just as he is departing back for home the snow and wind bring a surprise in the form of Holmes, who reveals they won’t be going anywhere. The two friends must make the best of it and Watson is touched by Holmes’ obvious concern for his comfort.





	Watson's Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watsons Woes March prompt ‘whiteout’.  
> The Granada adaption has my favourite Holmes and Watson (David Burke, though Edward Hardwicke has a special place in my heart), so this was fun to write. :)

The Case of the Blue Carbuncle had been satisfactorily resolved and I was still in the throes of transcribing my notes into a full account when I had to temporarily abandon my work when our wonderful landlady, Mrs Hudson ushered in a visitor.

Holmes was still clad in his dressing gown and devouring the morning papers in his chair, by a nicely burning fire as I scribbled away at my bureau.

“Gentlemen, there is a Doctor Harold to see Doctor Watson.”

I was already rising from my seat before Mrs Hudson had stopped speaking for I had caught sight of my visitor.

“Harold! By heavens what brings you here? Please sit – Mrs Hudson thank you.”

“You’re welcome Doctor, shall I bring you some tea?”

“Oh,” said Harold, who was a tall thin man with light brown hair slicked back. Glasses perched on his nose, behind which warm brown eyes full of good humour and intelligence gazed out at the world. He was a handsome fellow, but a bachelor.

The man was an excellent doctor, yet he was disinterested in the women who flocked about him, partly due to being very shy in their company.

He now shook his at Mrs Hudson’s query. Taking pity on my acquaintance I addressed Mrs Hudson even as I gestured again for Harold to sit.

“Thank you for your generous offer Mrs Hudson, but I do believe Doctor Harold will not be long with us.”

Mrs Hudson smiled and tucking her wrap more tightly around her, she stepped out into the cool corridor, shutting the door as she did.

Holmes was now observing us curiously, so I introduced them.

“Holmes, this is Doctor Harold. We work in the same surgery whenever I am able. Doctor Harold, this is my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective.”

Holmes briefly smiled and nodded in Doctor Harold’s direction. His green eyes met mine with a lifted eyebrow. I smiled quickly too, for I knew Holmes was eager to discover the reason for Harold’s visit, to see if it matched his deductions.

 Our exchange was swift and Holmes was looking back at Harold as my fellow doctor offered his own greetings.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes. Doctor Watson has spoken highly of you and naturally I have read your exploits in the Strand.”

“Yet it is not my assistance you seek, but Watson’s. So clearly you require a medical hand?”

Doctor Harold laughed.

“Indeed Mr Holmes.” He turned his attention to me with a serious expression.

“Watson, I must beg your assistance.”

“Of course, if there is anything in my power to help,” I reassured as I sat in my chair at the bureau facing him. I admit, part of me hoped it wouldn’t be anything physically strenuous for my old war wound was suffering from the incessant cold. My shoulder very sore and stiff and writing had been slow and cumbersome.

“I am meant to be manning the surgery while the others are enjoying time with their families. Unfortunately, my sister is with child and the child is coming sooner than expected. It is her first and I would prefer to be with her – she is strong you see, but I do worry.”

A natural precaution in my opinion. Childbirth always posed some risk to the mother and nothing was ever guaranteed. I could well imagine the desire to be close to a sister who had entered labour sooner than calculated. If I had a sister I should wish to be there.

As it was, I now saw why Harold had come to me so I decided to spare him from asking.

“Well Harold, if you need my services to cover the surgery in your absence you have them.”

Astonishment caused Harold to gape at me. Holmes’s sharp quick laugh had us glance at him and he shrugged.

“The good doctor, Doctor Harold, has estimable powers of observation. He rarely deploys them with the confidence he ought, but every now and then he does so.”

My stomach tightened in pleasure at the compliment and I fought the flush Holmes’ praise brought to my cheeks. It seems my companion is not the only one who enjoys praise from a source they deem worthy.

“Now Doctor Harold, may we know for how long Doctor Watson is to care for the surgery? We have tickets for a violin solo later this week and-”

“Oh, I do assure you,” interrupted Doctor Harold, “I shall only be gone two days at the most.”

“Then there is nothing more to say,” I tried wresting control of the conversation, for Holmes appeared to have taken a dislike to Harold. Not in a manner that would be obvious to anyone who did not know him well, but I was baffled and concerned nevertheless.

“I shall gather what I require and be at the surgery in the hour.”

Harold stood and shook my hand with vigour, a grateful smile and relief in his eyes. “Thank you, Watson, I shall be back Wednesday.”

I chuckled at his anxious confirmation. “Stop fretting and be off with you. Your sister needs her brother. The surgery is safe for today and tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know it. Thank you again Watson.”

Inclining his head at Holmes he was off in a hurry. Once I had heard the downstairs door click shut I raised an eyebrow at Holmes.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” remarked my companion quite untruthfully. Picking up his newspapers Holmes sat on his chair, drawing his long legs up and crossing them. With his thin elegant fingers, he turned a page to the section that told of charitable acts committed during the festive season.

Bending his head, my friend continued in an innocent tone, “I shall see you this evening Watson.”

Realising Holmes was refusing to comment on his behaviour I decided to prepare my bag and after seeing the light snow falling outside I determined to select my warmest overcoat.

Yet as I stood by the door to the world outside, I could hardly refrain from saying one last thing to Holmes who had followed me down and was shivering in his dressing gown as he watched me don my overcoat.

“I did not know we had tickets for a solo performance Holmes. Was it meant to be a surprise?”

Holmes sniffed, “I was waiting for the right moment Watson.”

“Ah for dramatic effect.”

“Honestly Watson,” murmured Holmes with censure, but his lips twitched in mirth.

“I do try to be honest Holmes.”

Holmes grinned. “Your humour is on point my dear Watson.”

“I don’t suppose you will tell me why you were so cool with Doctor Harold? He has done nothing to offend you surely?”

“Nothing my dear fellow!”

Holmes handed me my hat and then my black bag, his hand squeezing mine. “I take no offence at someone spiriting my colleague and companion out into the snow.”

“A light dusting Holmes and we have been on worse outings than my sitting in a probably empty surgery. I doubt many will brave the cold for anything short of serious complaints.”

Holmes shrugged, demeanour calm, but I who knew him well, could glimpse his agitation.

“Then I shall say no more beyond wishing you well and to implore that you stay wrapped up well. Your shoulder has been very stiff since our last case.”

Somehow Holmes’ observation on my old injury, aggravated by the cold weather, surprised me. It shouldn’t be considering who Holmes was, but perhaps, my surprise was more at the concern and tenderness his plea evidenced.

I write in my stories how cool and calculating my companion is, but a closer look at how Holmes shows compassion to deserving clients and his steadfast sense of justice belies my words.

Holmes is indeed a logical individual, who values reason highly. Yet he laughs often, his eyes hold warmth and regard for me and he shows a passion for the beauty of music and the worlds a poem can draw one into.

Even so, his friendship is hard won, and he is cautious in showing too much in public. We stick to walking arm in arm and conversing to each other, lost in our own little world where the singing of a violin or concerto piece weaves its way in whenever we indulge.

His regard for me is voiced carefully, for Holmes fears losing his reason to unreliable emotion. So, this show of concern filled me with a joy that ill-matched my venture into a freezing morning for a lonely vigil in an empty surgery.

Not wishing to make Holmes uncomfortable by evidencing my happiness at his concern I merely accepted his fussing with good grace.

“I will have the fire stoked in the room Holmes and not stir outside until I must leave. You should see me at six o’clock.”

Holmes remained discontent, but he released me. Opening the door, he gasped at the gust of wind that rushed to meet us, so I stepped out quickly. Turning up my collar and tugging up my scarf over my mouth, I bent my head before the wind. The flakes of snow danced around me, caught in the wind’s grasp. Thankfully the snow was light and would hopefully remain so.

I heard Holmes call goodbye and I raised my free hand, voice muffled by my scarf.

The surgery was close, but I watched for a cab and at the bottom of Baker Street found one that I claimed. Within fifteen minutes I was stepping inside the surgery where the maid took my overcoat and hat, before ushering me into a room where the fire was still not quite hot enough.

Placing my bag on the examining table I encouraged the fire with the poker and took a turn of the room to ensure it contained everything I needed. Then, I sat with a sigh and gazed out the window. Snow was gathering on the ledge outside, looking beautiful if not a promise for further snow.

Guessing my vigil would be long I summoned the maid and requested a blanket. My shoulder was indeed stiff and a cold room would not help it. Accepting the woollen blanket, the maid had retrieved from the cupboard I settled it over myself, my scarf still secured about my neck and selected a medical journal to read while I waited.

By five I had seen a grand total of three patients, all shocked to see me instead of Doctor Harold. In the meantime, the snow outside had fallen on and off, but for the last hour had been falling heavily.

Deeply concerned by the wind and sweeping white burden it carried I had sent the maid home by half four. At five I knew I must depart myself if I were to stand a chance of making it home. I had started packing my bag and was thinking of banking the fire when a heavy knocking on the door roused me. Alarmed a patient should be trapped on the doorstep, I rushed to let my patient in.

To my amazement it was Holmes who pushed his way in and shoved the door shut with a firm click.

“Holmes! What on earth brings you here? Are you well? Is Mrs Hudson ill?”

Holmes pulled off his hat and brushed the snow off his shoulders and coat lapels before answering me.

“Don’t be hysterical Watson, but in answer to your questions we are both well. When I saw the evil look to the weather I thought to fetch you.”

I turned my friend’s hat in my hands even as I was delighted that Holmes had been worried enough to trek all the way to the surgery to ensure I reached our rooms safely.

Holmes, ignorant of my thoughts, now frowned at me. “However, I am afraid I am too late. The pavement behind me is nearly impassable and all the cabs are taking shelter.”

“You risked the journey on foot!” I cried horrified. “But Holmes!”

Holmes scowled at me.

“What else was I to do Watson? I could hardly sit still knowing there was a possibility you had started back but became stuck. Fortunately, you are here and so now, am I.”

“Then we had better seek sanctuary in the examining room. I have spent the day there and had not yet put out the fire. The upstairs bedroom will be very cold, and it is not worth fussing with the fire there, with one lit in a room that has had the benefit all day.”

“Superb!” exclaimed Holmes who rubbed his cold hands together. He followed me, taking up my overcoat and hat as he did so. I soon found out why.

Once in the room my friend stalked about, his great brain absorbing all the little details that escaped ordinary folk like I, (no matter what Holmes had said earlier to Harold).

Eventually he released a pleased grunt. Striding to me, his long lean frame was like a magnificent cat perfectly at home in its surroundings, with a cat’s ability to be at ease even in a place not their own.

“Watson, we shall spend the night here as you say. Now I perceive there must be more blankets around?”

“Indeed, the maid showed me before I sent her on her way, so I could return the blanket I had borrowed. There are a few pillows as well.”

“Excellent, we shall retrieve them all and place one over each of the two windows and one along the bottom, where tendrils of cold may enter. The others shall help form our beds. We can use our coats as dressing gowns in the night if nature calls.”

My friend gestured to the fire. “We can arrange everything in front of it and we must sleep close to conserve body heat. Are there any supplies in the kitchen?”

“Yes, the surgery keeps a stock of tea, coffee and food so we do not perish of hunger during the day.”

Holmes smiled, “I think then, a detective and a doctor can work a kettle for hot tea and a spot of whatever else is handy.”

Growing increasingly excited at the prospect of a boys’ adventure I clapped my hands and spoke with enthusiasm.

“Follow me Holmes!”

Holmes needed no encouragement and apparently happy now that he knew I was safe, he accompanied me for blankets and pillows, then a second trip which resulted in the kitchen being raided.

I noted Holmes gathered the kettle, filled it with water to the brim and without a word conveyed it back demanding I wait. Upon his return, he ordered that I take the biscuits and bread, while he scooped up plates, knives and forks, and the pot that had soup left in it.

Hiding my smile, I obeyed without dissent. Holmes was sparing my painful shoulder and I was grateful. I could not move it much after a tiring day of draining boredom where I rearranged the medical cabinet for the sixth time, read three journals, all followed by my last patient who needed stitches in a bad cut to his hand. The repetitive movements had caused my stiff shoulder agony and I was relieved not to have to exhaust it more.

Once ensconced in the room, we heated the soup and even Holmes ate a bowl and two slices of bread after I looked rather pointedly at him.

Afterwards we did our best to clean up for sleep. We heated some water and used it for a quick wash with jug, bowl and cloth dipped into the water.

Finally, we slipped under the blankets in our undergarments, shivering as we did. The wind outside had not abated, snow whipping the windows, the bleak weather turning the night outside into a howling menace.

Holmes’ long, thin fingers on my shoulder arrested my attention. Embarrassed my discomfort was so plain I flushed as I faced him. His expression was concerned, and he tentatively said, “I can massage your shoulder, so you can sleep?”

Moved by his offer and his clear wish not to offend my sensibilities I could only agree.

“Thank you, Holmes, that would be wonderful.”

A pleased glimmer in those green eyes that were so often calm pools, observing and inferring ere they filled with excitement when in pursuit of a promising thread of investigation. I watched as he plucked from beside him a small bottle which I recognised as coming from the small medical cabinet. Of _course,_ a mere lock had stood no chance against Holmes.

Thank goodness he was not a thief, but chosen to fight against devilry instead!

Hands skilled equally with the sword and violin bow undid the bottle and the refreshing aroma of Eau de Cologne wafted into the air. I inhaled deeply, mind lightening at the scent. My mother had sworn by Eau de Cologne, and I still maintained great fondness for its restorative virtues.

Now Holmes took a generous amount on his hand and placing the bottle carefully aside, rubbed his palms and fingers together so they were well anointed.

Then with a gentleness that made me sigh, Holmes pressed his fingers into my shoulder. He began softly, increasing the pressure steadily and moving his fingers in circles. The calloused digits dug in, causing stabs of pain that gradually dissipated as he persevered.

The Eau de Cologne helped soothe the muscles, while simultaneously refreshing my mind and soul.

Gasping only once, I bit my lip otherwise until finally my body eased, and I groaned in relief.

“Good,” whispered Holmes voice deep with emotion.

I turned my head to see him scrutinising me closely. Slowly, like a break in the clouds his expression cleared, and a bright look overtook his features. I did not bring attention to this, rather I just maintained the special silence that had befallen us.

My shoulder was far more comfortable, the pain faded so I could now relax and sleep better. Holmes’ massage had been successful, but it was more than mere physicality. It was proof of his friendship and care for me that suffused my soul.

I felt his concern in the way his fingers had dug into my flesh, the manner his hands spanned my shoulder and cupped my neck to draw me to one side, to supply more room to work. His need to try and lessen my pain curled in my belly. Affection for my dear friend rose in me and I struggled not to say anything, just to smile in gratitude.

I believe Holmes understood for he smiled and became languid as he does when not on a case and either submitting to boredom, or to a world full of his music and deep thoughts.

He waved an elegant hand toward the fire. Following the gesture, I was surprised when Holmes took the opportunity to guide me down. He braced me with a couple of pillows and then took up position next to me. Without words he tucked the blankets in a cocoon around us.

His breath fanned over my cheek and his eyes were dark. Fearing this strange connection would shatter and break if I were to draw attention to his actions, I stayed silent for a moment.

Into the hush the crackle of the fire sounded loud in the room. The flames played orange and gold over Holmes features and the oil he used in his hair gleamed, so his black hair was like ebony reflecting the glow of the fire.

I knew outside the snow was falling and could hear the wind and I was aware how we had created this world within a world. Here the weather could not touch us. The public and the police could not demand our attention and Mycroft could not send a mysterious note, causing Holmes to vanish on missions he could not share with me.

It was a quiet world, full of affection and I was sure the fire had leapt into me.

How I cannot say.

Why? For my love for my friend was like a burning in me, steady and strong and all-consuming. I went where he led and appreciated his genius and complex nature: logic and reason, compassion and desire for justice, languid yet full of nervous energy when on a case, thoughtful yet destructive when reaching for _that_ which I could not stand.

To know Holmes returned my devotion and enthusiasm was always a joy. To wallow in such a display of his affection had been beyond my imaginings and hopes. Thus, I sank into the heated cradle of this world Holmes had crafted by his actions and added to by my own acceptance.

Finding my voice, I whispered in a voice thick with emotion, mirroring Holmes’.

“Goodnight Holmes. Thank you for coming.”

Holmes cleared his throat. “I could hardly allow you to enjoy an adventure without me, could I?”

I released a breathy laugh that roused a chuckle from Holmes. Then he sighed and said quietly, “Goodnight Watson, tell me if your shoulder hurts or the fire is too low.”

Nodding my acceptance, we fell quiet again and I closed my eyes in sudden weariness from a long day, the cold and a constant pain throughout. Now my shoulder was much better, and I lay as Holmes had directed, so my weight was not fully on the troublesome wound.

The heat of Holmes’ body and his steady breathing lulled me to sleep. In this way, I fell into a deep sweet slumber, cocooned by Mr Sherlock Holmes’ affection, however it was evinced, to keep him safe…from snow and old wounds.

 


End file.
